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zepskies · 1 year

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Smoke Eater - Part 1

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real.

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.

AN: "Smoke eater": a self-appointed slang term for a firefighter.

Happy Hispanic Heritage Month!! 🥳❤️‍🔥 You guys really warmed my heart with all the excitement for this story. I'm very happy to bring you the first chapter. I hope it doesn't disappoint! 😘

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 4,000 Warnings: Tense situations, brief mention of claustrophobia, and a good old-fashioned meet cute.

Part 1: "Class and Style"

Come on, come on, come on!

The toe of your heeled foot tapped on the floor as you, once again, waited for the elevator to make its slow climb back up to the 22nd floor.

In your hand was a tray carrying two steaming lattes: one small, plain hazelnut, and the other a venti caramel frappe with all the sugary bells and whistles. Complete with extra whipped cream, because your boss was a goddamn child.

I shouldn’t even be getting his coffee, you thought sourly. This is his assistant’s job!

And if this elevator didn’t climb any faster, having to stop at Starbucks during your meager lunch break for your boss’s morning fix would make you late for a very important sales meeting.

“Let’s go, Betsy. Come on,” you muttered. “You can do it.”

Yes, you’d named the contraption that usually managed to carry you all the way to your correct floor. When she wasn’t broken down for maintenance.

The four walls of the narrow elevator shook and creaked as it cleared the 20th floor. You inhaled sharply, but resisted the urge to grab the inner guardrail. This thing was old, just like the rest of the building.

But then, Betsy screeched and made an abrupt stop.

You were woefully unprepared. You slid in your heels and gasped—both at the jolt, and at the hot lattes tipping out of your hand and down your blouse and skirt.

Shit!

You didn’t even have time to wince at the scalding hot coffee, as you nearly rolled an ankle in the spillage. Luckily, you were able to grab at that guardrail. You sucked in relatively even breaths as you realized what happened…

The elevator stopped, but not on your floor.

“Oh, God…” you uttered, staring up at the red, digital “21” above the metal doors. It was blinking, but not moving. Just like you weren’t moving. Which meant…you were stuck.

Okay, not a big deal. You’re fine, you thought, trying to calm yourself. All you had on you was your phone, your ID, and your credit card. You’d decided to leave your purse in your desk, since you were just walking across the street.

But that was okay! Because you still had your phone…

“No service. Of course,” you muttered, raising your phone high to try and get a bar. This elevator was a dead zone, and it always had been. Fucking hell…

So you did the only thing you could think of.

You shouted for help.

You pressed the emergency alarm, several times.

You could hear it blare and echo outside of the chamber of the elevator, but no one seemed to hear you. Your work building was huge, made up of several departments and hundreds of employees here at Savage & Co. There was always plenty going on, especially in the middle of the morning.

Maybe no one could hear you.

“All right. Don’t…don’t panic,” you told yourself. Even though your heart was beginning to pound.

You finally pressed the “Call” button outlined in red. You didn’t know if it worked; half the floor buttons on the console didn’t even light up anymore.

But to your relief, the sound of a phone line ringing echoed through the small speaker. After a few rings, someone answered.

“Fire Department.”

“Oh, God. Yes!”

With a hand on the rail, you managed to kneel down next to the speaker. Your free hand brushed a strand of hair away from your dewy face. There was no AC in here, and you were starting to sweat. Thankfully, the rest of your hair was pulled up into a clip.

“I’m stuck in one of the oldest elevators known to man,” you told the disembodied voice.

“Sorry to hear that. What’s your name?”

You gave them your name, along with the address of your company’s building. The voice promised that they were dispatching a until to come and get you out soon.

“How soon is soon?” you asked.

“…About forty-five minutes, give or take.”

Jesus Christ.

You baked inside Betsy for close to an hour. While your makeup slowly melted, you found a corner of the ground that wasn’t covered by a coffee puddle, and you pressed the alarm button at random intervals. Still, no one seemed to hear it. You used the empty coffee tray to try and fan yourself.

Your phone was also useless. You tucked that along with your credit card into your bra for safe keeping. You’d definitely missed your meeting about the prospective Zimmerman account—one you and your coworker Josh were competing to nail down, as the top performers in the sales department. You couldn’t even catch up on your emails.

Damn it, Nick’s gonna chew my head off, you thought. But then you frowned, your brows furrowing. Well, it’s his fault for not maintaining this damn building. And for ordering a damn caramel frappe! What is he, a 12-year-old girl?

Your skirt was still sticky on the side. With a sigh, you leaned your head back against the metal wall and closed your eyes. Ah, well. At least I’m not claustrophobic.

“Fire Department!” called a man’s voice from above. “Can you hear me down there?”

You gasped and opened your eyes. Your gaze raised heavenward, and you called out to the voice.

“Hello?!”

“Ah, we found you. You okay, ma’am? Are you hurt?”

“Y-Yes…” You shook your head, even though he couldn’t see it. “I mean, no. I’m not hurt.”

“Good. That’s what I like to hear,” he said. “You’re stuck between two floors, but we’re gonna get you out, all right?”

“Okay.” You sucked in a shaky breath and grabbed the rail so you could get back onto your feet. “I’m stuck on the 21st floor right?”

“Well, in between 21 and 22. Hold on one sec.”

You stood there with bated breath, just waiting for something to happen. You heard tools whirring, felt the elevator shutter for a moment, but it didn’t budge. Until you heard a thump on the roof. You looked up, but of course you couldn’t see what was happening.

Until a square patch in the roof was unscrewed and drawn back, revealing a firefighter in almost all his gear: wearing a gray shirt tucked into navy pants, red suspenders, black boots and gloves. All he was missing was a jacket and a hardhat.

He did wear a harness, and he held another one in his gloved hand, as well as a charming, almost boyish grin on his face.

“There you are,” he greeted.

You didn’t know if it was the lack of AC, or his ridiculously handsome features, but you felt your face heat up further.

“Uh, hi,” you said, very eloquently. You offered a smile back. “Thanks for the rescue.”

“Well, we haven’t gotten there yet, but we will,” he said, still with that grin as he lowered the second harness down to you. “I’m Dean. What’s your name?”

You gave it to him as you took the harness.

“Nice to meet you, despite the circumstances,” he said. “I’m sure you didn’t have this on your bingo card today, did ya?”

You snorted in response. “Not even in my fortune cookie.”

It earned an amused look from him. Then he proceeded to instruct you on how to put the harness on around your waist and shoulders and clip the straps together.

“Okay, good. Now tug it, make sure it’s tight enough,” Dean said, motioning with his hand. You obliged him.

“Perfect.” He nodded, before crouching down and lowering his hands through the compartment. “All right, now. Just take my hands. I’m gonna pull you up.”

You looked up at him, then and at the narrow escape hatch with uncertainty.

“It’s okay,” he said, noting your reluctance (and your white-knuckle grip on the guardrail). “It’s perfectly safe.”

“Yeah, I doubt anything about this situation is safe,” you replied wryly. You glanced at the elevator’s metal walls. Even now, they groaned under Dean’s shifting weight.

“I mean, I’m sure you’re strong and all,” you said, with a vague gesturing hand at him. You couldn’t quite tell from your limited vantage point, but Dean could barely fit his broad shoulders through the hole he’d opened up. He was probably a big guy.

Still, you didn’t like the idea of your legs dangling in mid-air.

“I’m a woman, but I’m still a full-grown person,” you said, your brows beginning to furrow in worry. “People are heavy, and this thing is rickety as hell, and that’s a really tiny window…”

“All right,” Dean gently interrupted. He looked like he was trying hard not to chuckle, and you didn’t appreciate it…even though you were biting your lip, trying not to smile too (more in embarrassment).

“I promise you, the line’s got you,” he said. And he tugged on the sturdy rope that connected to your harness.

His eyes met yours directly, firm and assuring. They were green, you noticed, even in this fluorescent lighting.

“More importantly, I’ve got you. And there’s no way I’m gonna let you fall,” he said, with what seemed like every conviction in the world. “Just take my hands.”

He leaned in further so you could reach him.

…And damn it, you believed him.

Staring into his eyes, you found the courage to suck in a deep breath and release the guardrail. You reached up and let his hands curl tightly around yours. You gripped him right back.

“All right, pull up!” he called back over his shoulder.

You couldn’t see them, but you heard the voices of other firefighters as they slowly retracted Dean’s harness line as well as yours. When he was able to plant his feet on the roof of the elevator again, you held your breath as he pulled you all the way up as well.

You lost a heel along the way though. It fell off your foot and hit the bottom of the elevator below.

“Woops,” Dean said. His arms wrapped around you, and he held you securely against him when your heel (and bare foot) also met the elevator roof, a bit awkwardly. You both peered back down through the square hole.

“Want me to get that for you?” he offered, with another one of those grins.

Now you knew you were blushing. Stop it!

You shook your head as you clung to his arms. You felt the strength in them, and it steadied you, along with the easy way about him that said he was more than comfortable with the perils of rescuing trapped women from old-ass elevators.

“Don’t even worry about it,” you told him. “I just want to get the hell out of here.”

Dean chuckled then. “I hear ya. Let’s go, then.”

He glanced up and called out to a “Benny” and a “Gordon.” You assumed they were the men securing the harnesses that held you and Dean.

“Okay. You ready, sweetheart?” Dean asked.

“Yeah,” you replied with a nod, even as you bit your lip again at the endearment. Usually when men called you sweetheart, (like your boss), it was like nails on a damn chalkboard.

But somehow, it didn’t seem so sleezy coming from the charming fireman.

You craned to looked up at his face. He was much taller than you, even with half your heels. Dean met your eyes again, and for a moment, you were tense. The elevator shaft was dark and cold, but the light from the open doors of the floor above allowed you to see his face, decorated lightly with stubble, and his brown hair that spiked to one side.

Your mouth parted, though you didn’t have a clue of what to say next…

You were saved when the lines went even more taut, and the firefighters on the floor above brought you and Dean all the way up to the 22nd floor. He helped you reach out to a bearded fireman, who supported your arms and carried you out of the elevator shaft, onto solid ground.

A small crowd had formed in the lobby. Zachariah the CFO was there, along with the building manager, and your friend Andréa, who looked both worried and relieved to see you. And even your boss, Nick, came forward to meet you once Benny and Dean helped you take off the harness.

“You’ve had a busy morning,” Nick drawled.

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. “You could say that.”

Technically, he was everyone’s boss: Nick Savage, CEO of Savage & Co. He’d inherited the company from his father. However, Nick believed his one sad year of college business classes made him an expert on running your sales department with a firm hand.

“Well, it’s good to see you’re all right,” he said. Though his eyes glanced down your stained, white blouse, down to your bare foot. His gaze made your spine prickle. And not in a good way.

You crossed your arms on reflex. “I know I missed the meeting—”

“We recorded it. You’ll be able to watch it later, take notes, all that good stuff,” he said, his head tilting in that lazy way of his. He gestured at you with a finger. “But, uh…once you’re done cleaning up, think you could nip back out and get me that coffee? Since, you know, you’re kind of wearing it.”

Behind you, the team of firefighters discreetly watched the scene while packing up their gear—some with curiosity and bemusement, others (namely Dean) with a subtle frown.

You were livid.

But you managed to keep it down, just beneath your skin, as you bent down and took off your remaining heel.

“I’m requesting the afternoon off as personal time,” you informed him with (mostly) all due professionalism. There was a fire in your eyes, however, that not even you could tame.

“But don’t worry,” you said. “I’ll still land the Zimmerman account by Friday.”

You turned and dropped your shoe into a nearby garbage can. You didn’t want to be reminded of your boss every time you saw the coffee stains.

Before you left, you stopped in front of Dean and the other firefighters.

“Thank you very much for all your help,” you said, giving them all a smile. Your gaze lingered on Dean, who smiled back at you and nodded, his hands resting on his belt.

“You got it, sweetheart.”

Your lips twitched. Then you continued on your way towards the exit door, to the stairwell. You shoved it open and walked bare-footed up to your office to get your purse.

You’d left Nick silently fuming in the middle of the hall. You knew there wasn’t too much he could do with an entire crowd of witnesses.

He soon huffed and let your behavior roll off his back, as he became distracted by Zachariah and the building manager asking about the last time the elevator was properly serviced.

Meanwhile, Dean and Benny shared an amused look as their team rolled out.

Damn, Dean thought, remembering how you’d stopped in your little storm out, just to thank them. And how you’d held your head high as you walked away on bare feet.

He could admit, you had both class and style.

“Really, Grandpa. I’m fine,” you insisted.

Now in the comfort of your own home, and in your pajamas after a nice hot shower, you stirred a pot of chicken soup for your Grandpa George. He eyed you from the kitchen table with a measure of suspicion.

“Well, it’s lucky for you we’ve got a responsive Fire Department,” he said. “In the sleepy little town I grew up in, you’d be lucky if the whole damn building didn’t cave in before somebody got to ya.”

You shot him an amused look.

“Thanks. Makes me feel better about stepping into an elevator ever again.”

George seemed to consider the prospect, but he soon waved a vague hand.

“Ah, you’ll be fine,” George said, waving a hand. “Even if one of the cables snapped, you’d have three more holdin’ you up. And it should only need one cable to support the compartment, make sure the whole thing doesn’t fall to the damn ground.”

Your grandfather had been a technician for sixty years, so he knew a little thing about commercial building maintenance. However, right now, he wasn’t making you feel any better about your somewhat perilous experience. You paled a bit at the thought of cables snapping, leading to a long, Tower of Terror-style drop.

Except there’d be nothing to catch you at the bottom.

“It’s okay. I’ll just start walking up all 22 floors up to my office every day,” you said, smiling wryly. “I’ll finally have thighs like Wonder Woman.”

George laughed, though it soon ended on a cough. You eyed him with a frown as you ladled out a bowl of soup for him. You went over to him, both to set down the bowl in front of him and rub his back.

“Still with that cough. I don’t like it,” you said. “I’m making an appointment with your doctor.”

George shook his head and grabbed his glass of water.

“Just something caught in my throat.”

“Mhmm,” you replied. He was the absolute king of downplaying. It used to drive your grandma nuts.

You sighed and raised a hand to your forehead. An ache was building behind your eyes. Or maybe it had been there since you left work early today, and you were just now realizing how tightly wound your spine was.

“You okay?” George asked. You read the concern in his eyes and tried to relax your face from its scrunching.

“Yeah. Just a tension headache.”

“Hmm. Maybe you should spend less time worrying about me, and more time taking care of yourself,” he pointed out. “You had a stressful day. Why don’t you go relax? Or better yet, go out! Go see your friends. Get in a bar fight. Something productive.”

A grin curved your lips as you raised a brow.

“A bar fight would make me more productive?”

George grinned up at you. “Well, at least it’d get you out of the house.”

You pursed your lips. There was a reason you didn’t go out very often, and your grandfather knew it. You were the only one who could watch out for him now, even if he didn’t think he needed it. Your mouth opened to reply, but before you could, your cell phone rang through the house.

For a moment, the two of you stared at one another. Until George raised his brows.

“You should get that, huh?” he said.

You narrowed your eyes at him, despite your small smile, and you raised a finger as you went to get your purse over in the living room.

“We’re not done, old man,” you said over your shoulder.

“Oh, believe me. I know,” he grumbled, delving into his soup with a spoon.

Meanwhile, you fished your phone out of your purse and answered. A genuine, if tired smile graced your lips. It was your best friend, Andréa. She worked with you at Savage & Co., over in Marketing as a graphic designer.

As fate would have it, the two of you were hired on the same day five years ago. She’d invited you to lunch that day, and from then on, you two had been rocking through corporate life like Thelma and Louise—if Thelma had been a Greek artist and Louise had been a sarcastic saleswoman.

“Hey, Dre,” you greeted.

“Hello, my love. Congratulations for surviving your near-death experience, and getting to serve Nick Savage a bit of humble pie,” she teased. “I thought you were going to lobby your Prada heel at his head.”

You huffed and plopped down on the couch with your feet up on the coffee table.

“First of all, let’s not be too dramatic. I was stuck in an elevator, not a Chilean mine shaft,” you said wryly. “Second, you really think I would throw away Prada? Even if it was coffee stained… Those were just my $30 Steve Maddens.”

And yet, they had been your most comfortable heels. Maybe you should just find some sensible flats in the back of your closet and be done with it. But you liked the height and confidence that a nice pair of heels gave you—especially in that office filled with “Mad Men” wannabes.

Every male on your sales team thought he was Jon Hamm in a room full of George Costanzas.

Nick Savage was the worst out of all of them.

You dealt with it, however, and sometimes even thrived on being the only woman on the team. Mostly because you needed your job.

It paid well enough, but most of it went into the upkeep of your grandparents’ old house, and for the past few years, their extensive medical bills…

“Still, at least you got a Mission Impossible-style rescue out of it,” said Andréa. Her tone turned both leading and flirtatious. “Tell me you got that fireman’s number. Dear God Almighty, what a Grade-A Hottie.”

You chortled through your blush at remembering Dean, the firefighter who saved you. You could admit, he’d been one fine specimen of a man.

“Grade-A Hottie. What are we, in middle school?” you retorted. “Besides, he was just doing his job.”

“Ugh, you’re so pragmatic it hurts,” your friend lamented. “You really need to live a little, while you’re still hot and firm.”

You laughed fully at that one. “Yeah, I think taking the stairs from now on will help with the ‘firm’ bit.”

Just like the strength of the firefighter’s hold had been. You’d felt entirely secure after he’d pulled you up on the elevator roof. His arms had reassured you even more than the harness, if you thought about it. (And your face heated up further at said thought.)

“I do wish I could say thank you again, somehow,” you mused out loud, not really thinking about who exactly you were talking to.

“Oh, yeah?” Andréa said. You could practically hear her mischievous grin. It made you slightly nervous. “Well, it’s not unheard of for a grateful civilian to stop by a firehouse. You could bring him lunch or something!”

“Ah, I don’t know about that,” you said. Your instinct was to withdraw inward at the thought of putting yourself out there like that. Besides, you didn’t want to bother him while he was at work.

“What’re you talking about? Firefighters love food! Believe me, my cousin Meg is a paramedic,” Andréa said. Then she gasped. “Oh, girl. I have the perfect idea for you. Why don’t you bake something for the whole firehouse? That way it takes some of the pressure off, but you still get to see him.”

You became more contemplative then.

Bake something, huh?

Now, that you could do. Andréa knew all too well that the one thing that could get your gears turning was getting your apron on, as baking was your ultimate hobby. It made you feel creative, and damn-near stress free…

And her idea wasn’t too shabby, the more you thought about it. It was something kind that you knew you could do. And more than anything, you really did just want to say thank you, one more time.

You smiled.

“Okay. I think we have a plan.” However, your smile soon fell. “Wait, I have no idea what firehouse he works at.”

“Hmm, my cousin might know,” Andréa said. “Let me reach out to her…what’s his name again?”

“Dean,” you replied. Another small smile reached your lips, against your will.

“His name was Dean.”

AN: Ah, the first chapter! Launching a new story is always so exciting! 🥰 What did you think of the reader and Dean's first meeting?

Also, feel free to imagine Mark Pellegrino's "Nick" for this (I am). He didn't have a last name on the show, so I created one for this story, as he's going to be an important antagonist throughout.

And just so you guys know, my knowledge of the inner workings of fire departments and law enforcement will largely come from my own research and being a huge fan of procedurals, like Chicago Fire, Chicago Med, Law & Order, etc.

Yes, aspects are fictionalized on those shows, but a lot of it is rooted in real-life protocol and stories. All the love and respect for creator/executive producer Dick Wolf. 😂

...Oh, and the elevator scene was inspired by true events. (Yes, I've been stuck in an elevator before. 🫠 Two ridiculously hot firefighters pulled me out, but by then I was melting from the lack of AC, had no makeup, and was dressed like a female!Dean, plaid and all lmao.)

Anywho...

Next Time:

“Protect and serve,” Dean teased back. “That’s our motto, you know.”

“Isn’t that for police officers?” you quipped.

He chuckled a bit. “Hey, if the shoe fits.”

“Well…” you considered that with a tilt of your head, more seriously than he expected you to. You met him with a more earnest gaze. “I think it does.”

Right then, Dean had a feeling, deep in his gut, that he needed to know you.

Keep Reading: PART 2

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List:

Due to Tumblr's dumb 50-only tag rule, I'm tagging the rest of you in a reblog. 😘

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@melancholictearz @nic-kolas @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19

@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420

#Class and Style #Smoke Eater #Part 1 #dean winchester #Firefighter!Dean Winchester #dean winchester x reader #Dean Winchester x female reader #firefighter!Dean Winchester x Reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester AU #firefighter AU #spn #supernatural #zepskies writes

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ree-duh · 5 months

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This is probably going to sound extremely insensitive (and it likely is), but all the white autistic people projecting onto the Laios/Toshiro fight because of something that happened to them growing up kind of need to get over it. We're not in 6th grade anymore, and Toshiro didn't go to their grade school, so I think maybe we should unclench a little and work through our childhood trauma in a more productive way that doesn't involve demonizing a brown man for the sake of their golden boy. (1/2)

I think because of how overwhelming white tumblr is a lot of people who are relating to Laios in that situation have kind of got themselves into a bit of an echo chamber situation because they’re all kinda reaffirming their own very specific experiences of living with autism when Laios and the way he presents is impacted by his identity as both being white and being socialised as a man.

People can present very differently depending on their surroundings and there’s so many factors that can cause people to change or adjust their behaviours so insisting that toshiro couldn’t be autistic is just kinda pushing the narrative that there’s a correct way of being neurodivergent which isn’t true?? And as you’ve said can be really upsetting to people who may actually present that way

At the end of the day a lot of people are just stuck in a loop of seeing themselves as Laios and I can’t fault people for finding themselves in the media they consume but projecting too heavily to the point of misunderstanding the source material is only gonna make your understanding of the narrative weaker overall.

While I do discuss this I think it is important to say that while nobody can fault you for not being able to pick up on subtle social queues if that’s something you find difficult because it can be hard you need to also keep in mind that if you do inadvertently upset someone you can’t hand wave them off by saying you just didn’t understand without first address that you have upset them intentionally or not

#ri✨talks #I hope that made sense and I didn’t just ramble #delicious in dungeon #dungeon meshi #toshiro nakamoto #laios touden #asks

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andithewhumper · 6 months

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Experimentations Chapter 4: The Water

Content: Avian whump, human whumper, scientist whumper, threat of drowning

Dr. Vaughn knew that there would be no calming him down from this, but she didn't mind. She pulled out the dart gun from earlier and knocked him out. Then she untied him and put him back on the stretcher. It seemed that they would be doing the next experiment sooner than later. She pushed him back into the flight room. She restrained his hands behind his back and attached a collar to his neck with yet another electric lock. Then she attacked his collar to a notch in the floor. After he was secured she started preparing the room. She went into the control room and pressed a few buttons. The perches previously on the walls started retracting back, leaving the walls bare. Then He pressed a few more buttons and the room started to fill with water. She had situated him on a small platform that rose above the level of the water and then she pressed the last button and the heat kicked on. Now she just had to wait for the water to boil and the avian to wake up.

Streak didn't let on when he woke. He kept his head bowed, his hands limp behind him. His wings were draped around his body, defensively. He thought she was there, in front of him someplace. He assumed she was. But he was unwilling to look up to see. He took stock of his body. Hands behind him, a leash connecting his neck to the floor. Great. Love that. She was playing mind games. But his legs were not restrained, and neither were his wings.

The water started to boil. Dr. Vaughn couldn't see whether the avian was awake yet but he was sure going to wake up once he felt the hot water start to jump and burn him. And once he got up he was in for a long night. She leaned back in her chair and watched through the glass, waiting for the avian to show signs of consciousness. She knew it would be soon.

Streak reacted fast and suddenly. His wings spread wide and he took off with a leap, suddenly as far into the air as the leash allowed. He had to restrain his wing beats, to keep from dipping his feathers into the water. He cried out, in anger, in confusion. He tried to find her, but he couldn't see anything besides the wall of the room he'd been in earlier.

"What is wrong with you?" He shouted into the echo chamber. "You're insane!" The collar dug into his neck with each beat of his wings. He was made for soaring, not hovering, and he couldn't even do hovering well, when he was tethered over water. What she didn't know, though, was that the boiling water was simply an additional threat. It didn't need to be boiling to kill him. His wings were not made for water. The oils on his feathers protected from dirt, insulated him from the wind, fended off the sun, and even the rain. But submerged in the water, water coming between each feather... it would waterlog him. He would sink, and his heavy wings would drag him down no matter how he tried to swim. He would die in water, of any temperature.

Dr. Vaughn beamed as she watched the avian spur to life. She leaned forward and pressed a button on the microphone.

"I told you that you needed my permission to use your wings and you disobeyed me. Now you will learn what happens when you choose to break the rules. The water below you is only a few inches deep but I imagine that the temperature of the water won't let you land. You will stay here until you learn your lesson, and believe me I can leave you here all night." She turned off the microphone with a click and watched him flap through the glass. She would wait until he was absolutely exhausted before letting him down. Maybe then he will think twice before using his wings without permission.

He pulled at the collar, but with his bound he couldn't do anything more.

"Well, you lost your credibility!" He smart-mouthed at her. She'd taken the muzzle off. He assumed it had not been a day. So she was willing to change her punishment if he pissed her off enough. That was good to know. If he could cause enough problems in any given scenario, she would reset to something new. Not that this was better. His wings were all wrong for this activity.

Dr. Vaughn hummed. Perhaps she had lost her credibility temporarily, but she would make certain to put the muzzle back on once he had exhausted himself. She didn't respond to the lip. She just watched him struggle with the bonds. Soon enough he would start to tire and then the fun would begin. The real reason you had let him out of the muzzle.

"If you want to see me fly, take the collar off!" He yelled at the glass. He was pretty horizontal, his legs straight and stiff in his usual flight position, but each beat of his wings was unnatural and forced. He needed more space than he was allowed, and it was making this test a lot harder for him.

He repeated himself a few more times, fighting with the collar. His wings were stronger than they seemed, and when he really put his effort into it, it seemed for a moment like the leash would come free of the sunken platform. He changed positioning a few times, but he could only really fly when horizontal. His wings got too close for comfort, if he was upright.

Dr. Vaughn hummed, watching the avian struggle. She wouldn't let him free until he was exhausted and begging her for a chance to rest. She noted the way he was flying in her journal and took note of the amount of time he had been flying. Perhaps he would go longer than her hypothesis.

His mind was full of ifs. If he was free, he could fly for hours and hours without stopping, though it would be in dizzying circles. If the water wasn't boiling, he could land safely, he knew that now. If Loe were here, If she left him here, If he fell in- He wanted to kill her. He knew he was better than this test would make him seem. He was a long distance flier. He soared for hours, hitching rides on air currents. He wasn't a hummingbird. He didn't stay in one place. The force his wings created, flapping just once, was enough to rocket him halfway up the room. This restrained version, he was pulling the collar against his neck, trying not to snap his spine.

Dr. Vaughn noticed that the avian was starting to tire. She took notes of this in her journal and slowly turned the temperature of the water down a small amount. She wouldn't completely stop it from boiling but she wanted to prepare for dropping the temperature significantly when the avian finally collapsed.

"Please let me down," he whispered to himself. He didn't want to admit defeat, but this wasn't a game he could win. He was going to hurt himself- no, he was going to get hurt. It was her fault, not his. He'd done nothing wrong, he needed to remember that. He was sweating, still shirtless, and his hands twisted and struggled in their binds behind him. "I'm failing," he called to her. "I'm not gonna- I gotta stop."

Dr. Vaughn felt a wave of satisfaction through her when the avian started calling to her. She knew he wasn't yet tired enough to beg her, but he was getting there. The effort was obvious in his straining muscles. His wings were not flapping as strongly as they were before.

He groaned, his wings straining. The problem was self control. He just wasn't able to do this. His body wasn't able to sustain this.

"Help-" he groaned, his arms trembling. His legs were locked in place, he was in long term flight mode, and he was struggling to go back to being a person and not an eagle.

"Let me come down!" He insisted, more urgently now. But it was not a request, and it wasn't polite, it was a demand.

Dr. Vaughn raised an eyebrow at the avian's demand. He was close, but the desperation hadn't quite translated into begging yet. She wasn't worried. Soon enough he wouldn't be able to hold himself up and then the begging would come tenfold.

Streak grit his teeth. He was making a bad choice, he was being very stupid, and it was going to hurt a lot. But he wasn't willing to beg her. He wasn't willing to submit. He dramaticized it well. It looked like he collapsed rather than gave up, but he was definitely prepared. His boots were good, she'd said it was only a few inches, and he believed her. He knew how far down the platform was. He could fly better with damaged wings than he could walk with damaged feet. His wings rotated, and he landed hard.

Dr. Vaughn watched the avian with interest. He certainly was getting tired if he was willing to risk burning his feet to give his wings a rest. Well two could play this game. She reached over and turned the water pumps back on and the water level began to rise again. The temperature might go down, but the avian wouldn't be able to swim, certainly not without the use of his hands.

He sort of hopped around. The water was much too hot to bear even though his boots, though he didn't think he was actually burned. So he swapped from foot to foot for a moment and then took off again. His neck was badly bruised from his jerking again and again against the collar and leash, and he winced as it dug in again. Then his feather got wet. He cringed, drawing his wings further up, but he couldn't limit his radius any further while staying in the air. He scowled deeply, but kept it up, the tips of his longest feathers dipping into the warm but no longer hot water.

She reached forward and turned on the microphone. "There are no loopholes here, avian. You will fly until I decide you have learned your lesson."

She turned the microphone off and checked the water level. It was at about six feet by now. She had gradually lengthened the amount of chain that came out of the floor so he wouldn't suffocate himself.

He had to fly now. The chain was longer, but the water was higher. He was still in the same position, needing restrained wing beats to keep from dipping his feathers into the water. He was scared now, he was really scared. He could die in the water before she could get him out. Of course, he wasn't thinking about her draining the water. He wasn't thinking rationally at all. He pulled harder at the leash, his legs kicking.

Dr. Vaughn noted his panic, pleased that he did indeed have energy left in him. She noted the amount of time that it had been and she checked the water level again, making sure that it hadn't gone above six feet. She even drained it a small amount five feet would be enough water that the avian would have trouble keeping his head above with the weight of his waterlogged wings. And it was safer for when she pushed the platform back up and drained the water.

He wasn't aware of the water level anymore, only the water that had touched his wings. It wasn't nearly enough to do anything at all, but it had shaken his confidence and he was spiraling.

"I'm gonna drown," he was whispering to himself, "I'm gonna drown, god, I'm gonna drown-" And then he faltered, his wing dipped, and he over-corrected. He rolled sideways to get it out of the water, but it dunked the other one in, and in that exact moment, he was dead. He was as good as dead. The water seeped between each feather and dragged him down, he let out a terrified shout before his head went under. He was tall enough to stand, but he wasn't strong enough. His wings, each one longer than he was tall, dragged him down, and his legs weren't strong enough to hold up the weight. He crumpled under the water, the wings completely waterlogged. He was able to push his head above the water after a few seconds, gasping for air. He never exactly learned how to hold his breath, that wasn't something avians had to know. His hands still bound behind him, he shook his head to be rid of the water on his face. He was crying openly now, he'd never been so afraid in his life.

Dr. Vaughn watched the avian dip under the water. Quickly she pushed the platform up to drain the water and he sank with it, his wings laying on the wet floor. They were probably a hundred pounds each, sopping wet, and he didn't have enough back muscle to move them. They just lay limp where they'd landed, water streaming from them toward the drain.

She stood from her chair and walked out of the viewing room. She walked over to the avian and crouched down in front of him. The avian before her was magnificent. He was soaking wet and sobbing, so defeated that he was perfectly malleable. This is what she wanted. Now he would learn some respect and the lesson would stick. He would be much better behaved in the morning. Dr. Vaughn brushed a strand of wet hair out of the avian's face. She lifted his chin gently with a single finger.

"Have you learned your lesson, Streak?"

He nodded, his face lifting but his eyes looking down. He was trembling, his shoulders shaking from sobs, and he was coughing a bit. He hadn't been underwater long enough to be at risk of drowning, or even inhaling a dangerous amount of water. He'd just never been submerged like that before.

"Don't," he pleaded, his tears mixed in with the rest of the water dripping down his face. "Don't ever- I won't be- Bad, I'll do what you want, please- please, don't ever put me in water again-" He began to sob anew. He was a wreck.

Dr. Vaughn brushed a tear off his cheek with her thumb. She listened to his pleas with satisfaction. She lifted his head up with both of her hands, cupping his face.

"Look at me Streak. You don't ever have to go in the water again if you just behave yourself and follow the rules, okay. Can you behave yourself?"

He nodded into her hands, sniffing. He coughed again, turning away from her.

"I wanna go home," he whispered, his golden brown eyes still glittery with tears. "If I'm good... If I do all your tests and, and let you touch my wings, and all of that... will you let me go home after?"

Dr. Vaughn ran her fingers through his hair again, pleased that the avian was letting her touch him.

"If you are good and you let me do all of my tests I will see about letting you go home. Unfortunately, it's not up to me. My boss is the one who makes the decision, but if you're very very good I will let her know and maybe then we can take you home. Does that sound good?"

He hung his head.

"No."

But he couldn't do anything about it. He was drained. He didn't ask for his hands to be freed, or the collar to be removed. He was a lab rat now, and she would kill him if he was a bad one. He needed to be good, not because she deserved it, not because he wanted to, but so he could survive. He just needed to keep his head down and survive. Maybe she would let him send a letter home, or even call. What he wouldn't give to hear Loe's soft voice right now.

Dr. Vaughn wondered what the avian was thinking. He was obviously tired, having spent all of his energy with the flight and the panic. She knew he had earned a break. She needed him to remember why he was punished first, though.

"Alright. What do you have to say?"

It took a long minute for him to answer. He had to think of the right answer, the answer a crazy person would expect to that question. And even when he got it, he was unwilling to say it, because he was too damn proud. But he remembered the feeling of water in his mouth, his nose, his ears-

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

taglist: @blood-and-regrets

lmk if you want to be added :)

#whump #wing whump #avian whump #avian whumpee #scientist whumper #drowning #avian #lady whumper

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terraliensvent · 2 months

Note

Civ and Coy have left the species altogether as of today due to disagreements with the current staff. They didn’t want to cut back on making adopts so they removed all the pet info and split apparently.

What’s your opinion mod? Need screenshots?

gonna talk about this whole sitch in one go since i got a bunch of asks all together about it (asks above isnt all of them, just what i thought was notable)

first of all, imgur gallery of relevant screens in chronological order for you all. i am nothing if not a diligent journalist: https://imgur.com/a/8JlrfUs i recommend reading through that all because i dont feel like adding transcripts atm

now me personally, this is how i feel about the announcement

youtube

it astounds me how far coy will go to show their own ass in these situations (being impulsive, breaking in to the site to delete shit, shit talking the community THEY CULTIVATED??) and the funniest fucking part is that all this started because they were asked to maybe not profit off the species more than the people who are actually working hard on it (which, genuinely i think the new team has done more to further the species than anything ever under civ and coy. we have actual tangible evidence of work being done in the staff wip channel and FINALLY FUCKING TRAIT GUIDES, but anyways)

coy is a modern day furry icarus; all you had to do was shut your stupid mouth and you could have continued to rake in cash from the species you essentially left to die. i mean hell, cal (tycho) was being incredibly generous in saying you would be allowed 1 adopt per month as opposed to every two months like every other damn member of staff has to follow. you flew too close to the sun and now youve lost your easiest source of cash flow you dumbass

AND ON TOP OF THAT, to go on your instagram story to bitch and whine about it and show even more your lack of empathy for the people trying to piece together the mess you made, its just such disgusting behavior honestly. like terra staff is asking so little of you and yet you feel the need to shit your diaper over it because "well i created this initially so i should get to profit more than the staff team who are actually doing shit" youre acting like some CEO of a company who gets to rake in cash just because they slapped their name on a project being run by other people. its corny as hell and insanely childish that you cant be an adult (coy is 19 now guys!) and either abide by the fucking MINISCULE request they made of you, or be a civil human being and wash your hands of it instead of continuing again and again to try and wreck shit for other people who dont even want to gaf about you anymore. again, you had the easiest option in front of your face that would allow you to keep making money from your "brand" while doing essentially nothing, but you just could not be an adult and put away your impulsivities for a goddamn minute. that really exemplifies every single drama this species has ever been in, shit fits rising up because you and your staff (not current staff) couldnt grow the fuck up for five minutes and think before you type

and then to act like theyre not in the wrong about it really is the cherry on top of the shit sundae. coy has such an echo chamber around them that any bad decision is never critiqued and they just continue on this self-righteousness. maybe stop misconstruing the situation like "wah wah they keep changing things and pulling the rug out from under me" (which, funny enough you would know what was going on if you actually faced your consequences for once and tried to be a part of your bastard childs life) because you know thats not what happened. i hope their fans see how shitty their behavior is, because if i was someone with this sordid of a history especially relating to cs, i doubt anyone would want to work with me.

oh and civ left too lol. honestly i find their lack of response a million leagues better than whatever the fuck coys got going on. new terra staff keeps raking in the dubs i guess, i mean getting coy and civ to stop money grubbing over the species is awesome and now it can probably flourish even better than before. im sure the new pets will be cool too, seeing as the old ones were not really anything to lose your mind over. barely anyone wanted them as part of the species, and now that theyre gone theyre probably gonna be tossed into the void. at least now it might be cool to see what new staff team comes up with in the way of pets

mega rant over now but feel free to keep talking in my inbox about it, terravent fans rejoice because we finally have something to talk about

#closed species vent #terralien #closed species #terraliens #vent #coy #coy and civ are over party

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bellygunnr · 8 months

Text

Knight Out on Downtown Dialtown

Knight rider x Dialtown. Good fuckin' luck.

The alley behind Bunny’s burger joint is dingy. The signs plastered everywhere for people to “get their own trash” don’t make it any better. Actually, the gap between brick-and-mortar stores is surprisingly full-up with random filler, but the taped posters and graffiti can’t obscure the rank scent or the squelch of mud and refuse pounded into the cracked pavement. At the very least, it’s well lit, and the only major obstacle doubles as your destination.

A dumpster. A violet, heavily tagged dumpster, which— if the locals were to be believed— also doubled as a rental.

You hesitate, though. You lean back against your car, letting your head tilt back until the back of your helmet rests against the t-top structure. Red text appears in the corner of your visor, bringing a wry smile to your face.

This place is awful, Michael. Surely no one actually lives here?

You’re no good at texting back. “He pays rent and everything, KITT,” you say aloud.

You have to be careful not to activate the external mic. Thank GodPhone-God that Bonnie had deigned to add a toggle. Gave you and KITT some privacy while you both struggled your way through the city, whose populace was… interesting. Definitely jarring. Made you itchy, too. The racing helmet you and KITT chose is heavy and hot, the air cooling unable to keep up all of the time. And, well. You’ve both been running at orange since you rode in.

“Michael,” KITT imposes quietly. “We should find that Mr. Jade. That way, if he isn’t here, we can go to a car wash. Or a decontam chamber.”

Fuck. You unfurl yourself away from KITT’s chassis and stretch until your spine cracks. Your shuffling echoes.

The button to hit the mic takes a few chin waggles to fully depress. You hope the tell-tale clicking doesn’t tip people off anytime soon.

“Is there a Randal Jade here? Oh, that’s loud, KI—”

KITT, did you put on the amplifier, goes unspoken, because you bite your tongue. Your voice still rattles the alley, having been pitched way louder than necessary.

Yes, KITT messages plainly.

The dumpster rattles ominously. Trash goes flying as someone pops out from the top, bandaged, bloodied hands gripping the corrugated metal. KITT quickly identifies the Phonehead as a Nokia 3410 which you know is more for his benefit than yours. It just also happens to be Randal’s.

Why does he have “fuckface” scrawled on his head? KITT sends.

How the hell are you supposed to know? You’re wondering that yourself as you wait for Randal to get situated. He seems to struggle, or maybe your shouting disoriented him. Way to go, Michael.

“Um, hey there,” Randal says, slightly breathless. “I’m— I’m Randal Jade. You should just call me Randy, though. Am I in trouble?”

“No, no, no, Randy. You’re not in trouble!” You hurry to placate him for some reason. “I’m Michael Knight. I’m with the Foundation. Why don’t you, uh, come outside so we can talk?”

Randy puffs himself up slightly. Or as much as he can. He seems to be getting the shakes, propping himself up this long over the edge of the dumpster.

“Why don’t YOU come inside? So we can talk? Since this is my house and all…”

He’s got you there, KITT whispers in your ear.

You don’t honor KITT with a response. You both know that getting into that humble abode is not a fucking option.

“Do you really want me to come inside, Randy?”

Randy sighs and hefts one leg over. He falls to the ground in a heap. The thud isn’t as heavy as it probably should be.

“No, not really,” Randy says, staring up at the sky.

You approach him, offering a hand up. You’re not sure if he makes any sort of eye-contact, but his buttons and dim screen stare into your visor for what seems like an eternity before he accepts the help. The bandages are slimy against your palm. Sweat is visibly running down his neck.

KITT wordlessly provides a visual of Randy’s body and relevant vitals. Diagnosis? Some kind of terrified. He probably thinks you’re a cop.

Randy gets his feet under him, but you can’t stop yourself from giving him a pat down or hanging onto his elbows a little too long. You have a feeling if you don’t play your cards right, he’ll crumple into a wet paper ball…

If you think he is riding in my cabin, you are mistaken.

“Thanks… for that,” Randy says.

“Uh, yeah. No problem. Uh. Right. I’m Michael. From the Foundation. Apparently, you may be the only witness to a crime. I need your help.”

Randal stares up at you. He seems to shrink back slightly. You have to step back so his head doesn’t knock against your helmet as he bows it meekly.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says. “I didn’t see any crimes.”

“That’s the thing! You did! It was just a very plain-sight crime and are you actively bleeding through your bandages?”

You can’t help yourself. You’re too wound up to not notice the spreading red on his hands, even as he tries to hide them. Even KITT is highlighting the issue, which seems to be taking precedence over his distaste in being in this situation.

His hands and arms appear to be covered in bite marks. I cannot identify what from.

“When am I not bleeding through my bandages?” Randy asks, laughing a little. “You know how it is. Work runs out of first aid supplies…Just can’t keep up with PURE, UNFILTERED AVIAN RAGE. And how bad I am at wrangling them…”

He shrinks back in on himself, arms wrapped around his body, hands tucked away. His voice had swelled with momentary bravado that immediately cracked on the vowel and kept breaking all the way down.

You’re glad the helmet hides your expressions. But it also impedes your impulse control. You delicately grab Randy’s wrist and tug him toward not just yourself, but KITT, whose wheels crunch audibly against the pavement.

“Michael,” KITT says warningly.

Randy squawks and tries to bolt. You clamp down on him, and he’s not even heavy enough to pull on you.

“What— who was that?” Randy whispers.

You ignore him.

“KITT, come on. The IFAK’s still in there, right? It doesn’t even have to be inside the car—”

“I didn’t have covert murder on the list of ways I was going to die,” Randy says, “and I’m not sure if it’s better than the swans.”

“Murder? Michael, he thinks you’re going to kill him!”

“I— I’m not! Randy, who would even want to kill you?”

What is GOING ON. You didn’t even mean to say that, but Randy takes it and runs, gesturing with his free hand and mumbling incoherently. In your peripheral, you see KITT start to inch backwards, utilizing his “Silent Mode” for all it’s worth, apparently.

“KITT! Remember what you said about the public transit!” You cry out, marching after him.

“Who’s KITT?” Randy squeaks as he stumbles after you.

You debate asking why KITT even broke cover, considering their circumstances, but you have a feeling you know why. There’s no way you’re getting Randy back to the hotel on foot, after all, but both this alley-way and Randy’s, uh, eau de Desperation, will never get out of the upholstery. It’s never getting out of your clothing, either. So.

KITT makes a retching sound in your ear. New and gross. You don’t know if you should praise him for learning a new trick or scold him for making you sympathy-gag. But as you determinedly drag Randy behind you, KITT rolls to a stop and pops both doors.

“Randy—” You start.

“Kidnapping has to be, a, uh, vertical movement right? In terms of living conditions?” Randy asks.

You don’t say anything. His bandages aren’t even well-applied, really. KITT probably would have told you if he was infected, though.

Not even Devon can get you out of kidnapping and murder charges, KITT messages. It takes all of your willpower not to react.

“I never did agree to come with you,” Randy clarifies. “But we both know I’m not strong enough to get away, so why bother! This might as well happen!”

That… would make it kidnapping. You did plan on taking him to a second location. His injuries just threw you out of sorts. Even more out of sorts than you already were, and KITT’s sheer distaste for the current mission, well. Maybe you should take it from the top.

Very gently, you kneel down, clasping his hand more tightly between your own. Waterfowl, sweat, and fear would presumably be flooding your nostrils if not for the very over-engineered helmet over your head. You drag your thumb across his knuckles.

“Randy. I am serious. You can help us with this case. I just can’t let an injured man bleed out on my watch. Let me help you. So you can help us.”

Randy’s fingers wrap around yours. His free hand scrabbles at the back of his head’s paneling, apparently embarrassed by your display of chivalry. A tiny, aborted beeping sound filters out from within.

“Wow. You— you know what? Okay. Okay. I’ll go with you. If it’ll really help,” Randy says.

For some reason, you get the distinct impression he’s blushing. Maybe because his neck turns a darker pink, now that you can see it from the ground. Your pant legs are ruined, actually. Why did you do this?

Randal’s vitals have heightened. I dare say he’s attracted to you.

“You would know,” you mutter internally.

I heard that. Hurry up. This alleyway is going to ruin me.

To your surprise, Randy helps you back to your feet. The effort makes him visibly wilt and more sweat pours off of him in waves. Delicately, you nudge him over to KITT’s passenger door, which is still ajar.

“This is KITT, by the way. He’s my partner. Are you familiar with the hotel?”

Randy throws you an odd look, or what has to qualify as an odd look with a Nokia for a head. But he pries open the door and peers inside, hesitant. You cross around to the driver’s side and unceremoniously dump yourself in.

KITT’s voicebox is looking more like a face everyday.

“…Which hotel? Um, uhh…”

You decide to give him a minute while you look for the IFAK and manually take KITT out of silent mode. He gives you a low tone of reproach in your helmet, but quiets down as he apparently cottons on to how the low whine of the turbine soothes you.

“Hello, Randal,” KITT says.

Randy chirps.

“Are you— the car?”

“That is close enough for now, yes. You’re in good hands now.”

You throw a suspicious look at KITT’s vocoder, which pulses in time to his voice. He’s speaking lower and smoother than usual, and your skin prickles oddly. First, he blows cover, then he starts flirting? Maybe you’ll let him keep it up. See where it goes.

“Am- am I? Hey, maybe I should just get out and walk… I just realized your interior is REALLY clean and—”

KITT lurches forward with a rip of his engine. You snatch the steering yoke to at least pretend you’re driving before he truly hands you manual control. Sedately, you nose back out onto the streets. Dialtown traffic has wound down somewhat.

“Do not. Worry. About that,” KITT lies, in a tone of voice that says Randy should be worrying about it.

Far more kindly: “Why don’t we begin with your day? We could start with the swans.”

One of KITT’s screens starts showing a black-and-white rendition of a swan. It has a paper shredder for a head.

You should be commended for driving like nothing is wrong. You didn’t see the paper-shredder fowl when you had scoped out the park. Too busy losing it over the condition of the grass at the time (and chasing Little Billy away from KITT; he had… interesting vocabulary).

Randy sinks low into the seat to accommodate his… head. Phone. He trembles visibly, presumably in agony.

“We have time if it’s a long story,” KITT says coaxingly.

“KITT—” You start on the internal mic.

You proposed to him first. I am merely following through.

“And I’ve heard that one before…”

Randy’s hands move and writhe as he stops and starts, clearly trying to pick his way through— whatever got him into his specific mess in the first place. It’s going to be a long drive back to Uptown Dialtown.

#dialtown #knight rider #k.i.t.t.#randy jade #kitt #michael knight #gunny writes #you wish this was a normal fanfiction

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pipzeroes · 1 year

Text

I have been thinking: COVID consciousness is like climate crisis consciousness.

People can pretend it isn't real (e.g. "climate change isn't happening," or, "COVID is over," fallacies such as this).

Others can acknowledge it is real, but be despairing, choosing to focus on "the futility of things" (e.g. "maybe we could have changed CO2 emissions in the seventies, but we're past the point of no return, and the Earth is going to burn and there is nothing we can do; DAMN YOU ALL TO HELL etc." or, "humanity brought it upon itself, there's no point in trying to prevent the spread of COVID; now everyone is going to get sick," defeatist attitudes such as this…)

But one can come to appreciate the interconnectedness of everything, and, that while one might not have the ability to control one's destiny, let alone the destiny of future generations, one does have the ability to keep trying to make things as… good as possible? As beneficial to as many as possible? Most heartening? Most loving? Even when it is difficult!

Because:

We are all interconnected!

Caring about you makes sense because you caring about me makes sense because we inhabit a common reality! Caring about one another makes our mutual reality better for ALL of us, instead of being caught up in whatever this ridiculous pretense is that everything is fine, this weird attitude that the "immune compromised don't matter, because they'd be dying anyway,"

And even though I think you should care about others

I also keep thinking

do some people

not

realise

that

COVID infection has been documented to reduce immune function

for like

PRETTY MUCH ANYONE

THAT MEANS COVID IS A RISK FOR PRETTY MUCH EVERYONE

and

you do not have a better immune system because of moral superiority! A virus does not care about that kind of thing when it's floating through the air in tiny bits of airborne moisture!!!

And even those with previously of the most robust health do not have the assurance that their immune system will prevent long term impairment because of COVID infection; those who were previously athletes have found themselves sidelined by COVID infection.

Like…

COVID is BAD

AND

COVID is NOT over

And

Some people could be brought around to taking more careful measures if they knew the actual reality of things:

COVID floats like smoke, meaning that to prevent infection whenever one is indoors with strangers (e.g. public places!) one should be wearing an effective, well-fitting mask,

COVID hampers one's immune system

It's bad to spread it to others!

Why is this a controversial opinion?!

Like, let's stop the spread of disease!

This seems like a good idea!

And some people would agree with this, but for whatever reason they're isolated/cut off from the truth, and the trick is finding ways to inform these folks…

But then…

For whatever reason…

It seems like some other people somehow cannot acknowledge reality…

And I find it the weirdest thing!

And I mean, I've been around the internet ("I've seen things you people wouldn't believe…")

I've seen how people can get into echo chambers, affirming realities they want to be true…

But...

In the spring of 2020, I would not have imagined that things would be like this, in 2023…

I don't know what else to say?!

Care about other people?!

Take care of yourself?!

Take care of the biosphere and consider how the output of human activity impacts climactic cycles and the way the living situation will be for coming generations!?!?!?!

Avoid spreading disease because it can impair and kill yourself and/or others?!?!?!

Getting beyond the

"Yes"-

Because the "Yes" can mean

Despair

"Yes it is irreparably bad so there is no point in caring,"

And

Maybe everything will fry! Maybe the next meteorite will come and wipe us out as one did the dinosaurs, and the next species to evolve will have no idea we ever existed! And caring about climate change was pointless?

OK?!

So I should be the-right-amount-of-despairing?! It was better to be hopeless instead of hopeful?! No hope is the appropriate response? What if I hope, anyway?

What if somehow I make things better for someone three generations from now, even if I never meet them, even if humanity dies in five generations? Even if the world is hit by a meteorite tomorrow, why is it cringe if I try to make things better on what turns out to be the last day on the Earth?!

What if you cared about others, even if these others are coming generations and you will never meet them?

Why give into despair?

Even if things are REDONK.

There is PLAGUE; should we not be avoiding it?!

We could get beyond Yes- to but!

"Yes- there is a terrible situation!"

"...BUT this does not have to lead to despair…!"

"…BUT what we do now makes a difference, and cooperation is integral!"

Danged if I've got all the answers, but I'm pretty sure that caring about one another is a good place to start.

I may never meet you, but I can care about you.

And not saying it isn't hard. Like. It can be hard not to despair.

Keep on keepin' on!!! <3

#COVID #COVID is BAD #COVID is NOT over #COVID is ongoing #covid is airborne #pandemic #mask up #long covid #masks #sars-cov-2 #covid-19

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nothorses · 1 year

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Adding my two cents to this: First off I think it'd be great if public schools were improved, as they do provide food for kids, a space away from potentially abusive parents, and a way to socialize with other children. In that regard, public schools are necessary, and I am suspicious of people who want to tear them down completely.

But on the side of homeschooling, a lot of kids have physical or mental disabilities that prevent them from school being worth it, or face such extreme bullying that removing them from the situation is the only way to solve the problem. Some of those things can be fixed (better aid for bullied students and better resources for disabled kids), but others can't to a real extent. I personally had to drop out of school multiple times, then study and go back to school, then end up dropping out again, just because my disabilities prevented me from learning at all in a public school.

But still, if those things are fixed, it'd be easier for kids to not be sucked into whatever echo chamber their parents are in.

...And on the other hand again, the government interfering too much with what happens inside the home can be abused, such as more surveillance inside the home making it easier to tell if the household is too queer or supports abortions in places that outlaw those sorts of things.

Basically, it's a complicated subject, and thanks for taking the time out of your day to talk about it.

It is complicated! And I think it requires a lot of complicated solutions; providing more options, and making them more viable, is often the path to greater accessibility. That means schools need to be made more accessible to and supportive of disabled students, and it means homeschooling needs to continue to exist, and to be better supported, so that it's a viable option as well.

The surveillance thing is a great point, and I will say that I think that comes down closer to social work/CPS. Providing support should, imo, look more like providing curriculum, funding, connections, and resources to folks who homeschool.

Someone added to another post of mine that in their country, homeschooling entails teachers physically visiting homes to teach them lessons a few times a month; that's a great option! We could also be providing workshops on how to teach or for students directly, camps and part-time learning options; online options like classes, tutoring, and study sessions; funded field trips and other opportunities public school students get access to; and whatever else could help supplement learning, social connections, and connections with local homeschooling folks to better support that learning.

Encouraging some level of participation in some community-based events can itself do a lot of good to catch and minimize abuse, and maybe there is a need for some requirements there, if only to better disseminate resources, options, and connections to kids who might need it. But like. I'm not an expert on any of this, and I'm kinda just dreaming anyway. 🤷‍♂️

#education #homeschooling #homeschool

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spade-riddles · 10 months

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Anonymous asked:

Everyone is upset about the very public stunting and how it’s taking away from her Grammy nominations “for some point we can’t see” but I think maybe that is the point? Like her 1989 prologue was so clear about the media/general public sensationalizing all her relationships and assigning songs to individuals instead of focusing on her skill and craft, and honestly while the last stunt was intense they’re realistically not doing much in the public eye (only a handful of times seen together) and everyone is in a frenzy. It’s insane how social media basically became an echo chamber of “omg they’re perfect they’re endgame etc” and she literally only hugged and seemingly kissed him? She changed one word in one song when performing in front of him and people had intense reactions (positive and negative) and it’s still only a handful of things between them, and it shows how obsessed people are with her relationships even now as a 33 year old woman and not her craft.

I know we want it over and her to be out with the love of her life, but I have a hard time believing that’s going to happen before she’s finished releasing the re-records (is this not the reason the lover coming out was derailed?) she has a plan and has made it clear she doesn’t want them profiting off her work. I’d feel insanely violated if people I hated and had bullied me (idk exactly what he was using to bully her but the lack of description makes me feel like it’s related to being queer) owned/profited off my art that was made as a closeted queer person when I’m trying to come out. The situation is messed up and she’s doing everything she can to take her life back and she’s doing it on a speed run. She’s released 4/6 re-records in a very short time and posed to drop a fifth very soon.

Personally, I have in my brain if the chiefs make it to the Super Bowl (2/11/24) she’s dropping rep tv on 2/10/24. Bonus points if they lose, double points if she drops him too at that time but I wouldn’t be surprised if he stuck around while she releases debut tv to help market it to the country fans.

The end is near but not coming fast enough lol Karlie and Josh have not acknowledged what would have been a 5 year anniversary (contract length?), we’re seeing lots of photos indicating kk is in the same general locations as Taylor is, Taylor mentioning how she can see everyone in the audience basically confirming she could see Karlie in the crowd at LA Eras, articles of her close friends worried about her rapid relationship with Kelce potentially seeding a breakup, and she posts about not beating the witch allegations with the plane that I swear I saw on a Kaylor blog before she posted (literally did not see that exact wording anywhere else but I could’ve missed it)

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8-evil-annoying-catboys · 1 month

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trying to separate the trans community into two categories will never fucking work. it’s not that simple. even if it seems like it should be that simple, there will be people you would sort into one category in theory who will fall into the other category, and people who do not fall into either category, and people who fall into both categories (either at the same time, or at different times or in different situations, depending, obviously, on the nature of the categories/dichotomy). this is especially true if you think of these categories, in your mind, as being based on coercively assigned birth sex, when by the actual definition you use they are not actually based on that, but based on, for example, perception by our oppressors, or self-identification, or individuals’ opinions, or anything else.

arguing about who goes where, and trying to exclude each other, and not listening to each other only hurts us. seeing each other as freaks (in a negative way), basing your activism exclusively on people who you see as being the same as you, refusing to acknowledge either systemic patterns OR individual lived experiences that defy the expectations set in place by systemic patterns, and ANY OTHER INFIGHTING only hurts us. if we’re going to survive the current political climate, it is of the utmost importance that we STOP FUCKING FIGHTING EACH OTHER and start fucking PROTECTING each other.

transunity is the only way we will make it out of this without being, at best, battered down and chased out of more and more and more places until there is nowhere left for us to feel safe, and at worst, fucking massacred. stop parroting gender essentialist AND bioessentialist rhetoric. stop beating up our own for slight missteps and misunderstandings.

and don’t you DARE read this and think that i’m not talking to you. i’m even talking to myself, partially, bc we all have biases to unlearn and i’m not exempt, bc literally no one fuckin is.

follow other trans people who have different opinions than you (but, like, not if they directly hate on people like you bc that’s bad for your mental health, i’m not saying that, i’m saying bridge the gap). follow intersex people, whether they are trans or not. follow multigender, genderqueer, agender, nonbinary people, and make a point to seek out those who were not coercively assigned the same sex at birth as you were, and those who are intersex especially if you’re perisex. follow binary trans people who are not the same gender as you. follow trans people who ARE the same gender as you but are intersex. widen your horizons and break out of your echo chamber. for the love of the entire community, PLEASE seek out bloggers who are vocal about transunity. if you safely can, then go to pride and other irl community events/spaces. seek out irl trans friends of as many different genders as you can possibly find.

just. god. please. stop fighting. we need to use that energy to protect our WHOLE community. we will have time to settle intracommunity disputes once it’s safer for us to exist in general. it sucks that we have these disputes in the first place, and i want to solve them as much as the next person, but they are not the same as the vitriol we are facing from all directions.

and maybe, just maybe, if we actually fight as siblings and protect each other, we can break down our own biases during that fight, and the intracommunity issues will be less intense by the end. it’s not guaranteed, and if it does happen, it won’t apply to every single person in the whole community, but… still… wouldn’t that be nice???? if we all gained a better understanding of people in our community who aren’t the same as us???? don’t you want that, too??

#tumblr original post button is literally my diary <3 #just… food for thought ig. i hope at least 1 person sees this and takes it to heart #transunity #trans unity #trans #transgender

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multiplicity-positivity · 4 months

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hi so i understand if this isnt something youll help with but... ok so. sometimes when a new headmate is forming ill dream about them like theyre trying to introduce themself to me before they officially meet the other members since im the host and the one who fronts most. thats not the problem, i quite like meeting new members. the problem is i think theres a headmate introducing herself and... she's a terf. is there a way to prevent her from forming or change her to not be hateful or anything???? i dont want a terf in my brain :(

Oof hey, this is tough. The one thing I say right off the bat is, if a headmate is going to form, they’re going to form. We don’t think it’s possible to prevent a headmate from forming who already is forming, if that makes sense.

We’ve heard of paromancers successfully “dissipating” or dissolving paros/thoughtforms before, but we don’t know enough about this process to vouch for it, and from the sounds of it it doesn’t seem like something we’d readily recommend here, to anyone. You know yourself and your system best though, so use your own discretion if it’s something you want to look into.

Personally we think the best way to handle this situation is to welcome this member into your system, accept her, engage with her, and include her in group activities and conversations your sys may have.

While doing so, call out her harmful, bigoted, or wrong beliefs about trans people. Educate her with as much patience and kindness as you can muster. Encourage her to talk to trans people and think critically about her own opinions and beliefs. Reinforce the idea that change is possible, good, and necessary, even if it’s difficult or uncomfortable. If you have trans headmates in your system, set firm boundaries to help them feel safe, and let this new headmate know that exclusionary words and behaviors will not be tolerated by anyone in the system.

This may be challenging, but we feel it could be necessary in order to help this new headmate understand the realities that trans people face and avoid ostracizing her from your system entirely. Remember change is a process, and it often happens slowly. Don’t stand for bigotry and call it out when you see it, but don’t make her life miserable if you can avoid it. Also recognize the moments where she chooses kindness and inclusivity. Draw attention to her positive interactions, and express how proud of her y’all are when she makes steps in the right direction. Build her up and support her when she says and does things that humanize trans people.

Questioning and challenging internalized beliefs is not easy. So even though y’all will need to demand this of her, understand that it’s a process, recognize her efforts, and if/when she does change, embrace her with open arms. You can do all this without allowing her to walk all over your system and treat the trans people in your lives like trash. Be firm when you need to - no marginalized person should ever have to take bigotry from anyone, even if they share a brain.

(A note from our partner sys - maybe try and keep her from engaging with other terfs online if at all possible. Terf ideology spreads through likeminded folks secluding themselves in online echo chambers which aren’t all that difficult to find. Keeping her from joining these sorts of circles might help things go a bit more smoothly.)

Good luck - we know that life with a headmate who holds bigoted beliefs can be scary, disheartening, and exhausting. Don’t give up! We believe in y’all and we hope that y’all will be successful in educating this headmate so that she can live life with a better, healthier, and happier mindset in the future.

#long post #TAGS FOR FILTERING - TERFS DO NOT TOUCH OUR BLOG!!!#terf #radical feminism #trans exclusionary radical feminist #bigotry #bigoted headmates #terf headmates #exclusionism

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slaaverin · 3 months

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Thank you for explaining. I think I got the gist reading it the second time but it’s the terminology I’m not used to, my sister dabbles in tarot but I’m hesitant because of how much it reveals, especially since one time someone who spoke to their guides predicted my miscarriage and never told me before hand, it freaked me out, so reading about Jimin upset me as it seems he is in a bad place bless him. I mean I know logically they are, but the other reading of the whole band said they are also protected when I read that, so that’s something.

I think it makes it all the more important they went in together and somehow fate aligned in the application process to make that happen. They are trapped in there though, both doing crazy things in their careers right now, with Muse and the travel show and now Jungkooks documentary. It’s wild! Do you think maybe Jimin is worried about how vulnerable he’s making himself in this album? He keeps talking about a truth and we are yet to see/hear what he means by that. Maybe he’s second guessing himself in the run up to release. I hope whatever fears and anxiety he does have are allayed eventually because I truly think people do love and support him in the fandom, sometimes the echo chamber doesn’t feel like it but i think people love him fiercely. Glad he has Kook though to lean on when he needs it.

I just wish them the best and all the happiness in the world. And that time flies so they can get out of there fast!

I understand. It's true that tarot is a great tool to learn about energy and psychology but depending on the reader's ethics it can be used badly. To me bluemoonpunch has always been "professional", never reveals too many personal details, never talked about the status of their relationship, it's more on an energetical standpoint which I find educational and interesting to analyze.

I can only speculate about Jimin's fear and give my biased opinion. I feel Muse is a continuation of Face, the natural next step. He wants to reveal himself to us more, tell us something he didn't dare say before. I think he is nervous about this. There is also the travel show to consider, with many eyes on them, more than before. In the past people could dismiss jikook's bond by ignoring their moments or belittle them, but this time the whole fandom will have to sit and watch jikook's dynamic for hours and I am sorry but I think, even without them saying it cleary, it will be blatantly obvious for everyone they are in a relationship. Editors will play the bro card but I don't think this will be sufficient.

Everything will be out on the open, way more than before, and I feel Jimin is aware of this, and dreads the reaction of people because it makes him worried for Jungkook and his own safety.

Muse + the travel show is a lot to think about at once, plus we don't know how exactly is the situation inside. I think he made friends but with everyone? I am not sure. Maybe he worries about things from the inside too, we don't know.

Overall I think this would be a lot for anyone, and I am glad Jungkook helps him in this situation.

I'm trying to tell myself that before making the decision to make Muse and the travel show, he thought about it, he pondered it. So he knew what kind of consequences there could be. Yet he decided to go through with it anyway. He might have had his reasons. I trust his judgement on that.

I feel like he knows why he did it, I don't think he regrets his choices, yet I can imagine him going into the worst case scenario in his head, what if it goes wrong? What if it hurts me, us? I think it's a very human thing to think about. Because he can try to predict the outcome but in truth he cannot control it, so he has fear.

I think he cares what people think because he doesn't want Jungkook to get hurt. Depending on what truth he reveals in Muse he could be afraid of consequences.

I am curious to see what this untold truth will be, and if somehow things are connecting together or not, how everything fits.

I hope Jimin and Jungkook can rely on each other during this time, and maybe it's best they are busy with military life not to think too much about it.

Thank you for sharing your thoughts 💜

#jikook #bts #jimin #jungkook #ask

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freckliephil · 3 months

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Do you realize you have poc mutuals and it hurts that you have not said anything in support to the discussion, but instead said people should log off? People are mad but if you don't want to reblog vent posts you can still just... say the obvious, that people shouldn't be racist here. Otherwise saying you're not racist means nothing and does not make this space safer for anyone. And I really, really mean this in the most non-violent way possible. (Also fine if you don't answer this, just a heads-up anyway)

Im gonna be so fr right now and then im going back to work. Ive been on tumblr for 10 years. Ive been engaging in fandom for longer. i can say with complete confidence that fandom tumblr is not the hill to burn yourself out and die on re: activism and racial justice.

Its absolutely disgusting and unacceptable that poc phannies are getting sent slurs and anon hate. Idk how else to put it - it sucks and im disappointed its happening in a fan community im part of. But like, idk what exactly there is for anyone to do other than be aware of what you can, not be a dick, or log out? Like, idk what is being asked of me other than to not actively be a racist asshole myself?

Tumblr sucks, i fucking hate it here 80% the time, this place is a literal nightmare echo chamber and it’s hardly gotten better if at ALL in the decade ive been here. Idk if this is noticeable, but i really dont spend a lot of time here in general. I just started a full time job in a new field, i have partners and friends and a busy ass poly schedule that leaves me like 2-3 hours a day of downtime IF THAT. Sometimes i use that time to browse tumblr or shit post with my friends, but being active on tumblr and staying up to date on the goings on of people i dont know or talk to online is reaallllyyy not my priority. I literally dont read OR make posts on tumblr over 3 paragraphs as a pretty loose rule - this is not my news source, nor is it somewhere i want to go to read or engage in people’s tumblr brainrot induced lukewarm takes about real issues that require things like nuance and self awareness. I got a Gender studies degree for that. I have my real life community for that. Yall dont know me and i dont know you, and respectfully, im not getting paid to keep up with these things.

I fully stand by my statement that we should all just log out. I dont want poc phannies to burn themselves to the ground fighting with idiots who wont change, at least not in this setting or this context. I dont want people, either random white phannies trying to avoid blame OR dan and phil themselves, to put out half hearted statements about racism. This shit is serious, its complex, and it’s not something i personally can commit to changing or even keeping up with IN THIS CONTEXT. There are more pressing issues in the world we live in for me that have nothing to do with fandom or tumblr politics or fucking dan and phil. I’ll acknowledge that it fucking sucks, and im genuinely sorry to the poc phannies who are getting the shitty end of the situation as they often are. i dont want anyone to be run out of phannie tumblr nor do i think the solution to racism is to just go “oh well, people never change, time to give up and shut up” BUT i also really dont know what this call to action is really for if the issue at hand is…anon hate?? dan and phil not *maybe not going to latam or asia on a tour?? stuff dan and phil said a long time ago?? Like, correct me if im wrong, but those really aren’t issues in my control, and as much as i wish anyone’s words could have a real affect on them, they just wont. All you can do is reduce harm with the tools at hand - turn off anon, build community with people you trust and get to know them as people and not URLS, literally log of and go get some air, find communities you can have real dialogue and action within. Thats all i know how to cope, and all i can recommend doing.

Im not trying to be an ass or say this isn’t important, i just really dont think the answer to this issue is to go into people’s ask box and demand they say something when you literally dont know them or their lives. not everyone has endless time to engage in complex discussions on tumblr, and i really truly believe begging people to say SOMETHING is completely unhelpful when these issues are so sensitive. I really hope things change and i wish i had more time to actually get into it or form helpful, productive opinions other than this, but i dont.

#asks #anon

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jlf23tumble · 1 year

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Hiii hope you won’t mind this ask! I just found your blog and i’ve gone over it a bit and I saw you talking about h and l not being together and it made me curious about your larry thoughts!! You can answer in the tags if you don’t want to start discourse but I hope you do answer:((!

I don’t know if you think they’ve been together in the past/never together or just don’t care about it cause scrolling through Tumblr is a nightmare and I can’t see all your posts obviously ahaha but personally I thought they were together and I think they might have broken up in the last year or so. I got a strong sixth sense in general if you could call it that and lately I can sense something is different and I can see some people feel the same but don’t really discuss it openly so I wanted to hear your opinion.

The last thing that made me ‘sure’ they were still a thing while looking at the previous 12 years was harryween with hopelessly devoted to you and then Louis quoting it at his grease fav. After that I can’t really see something that makes me think “at that point they must have been together cause otherwise it wouldn’t make sense”. And paired it up with louis in particular being a bit strange in the last few months and with what you pointed out as well namely Harry doing everything he can to not be even thought to be on tour with L… As I said I don’t know when you started talking about a break up, but do you think that halloween’s occurance was still them being together or teasing each other from a distance or maybe just keeping larries at bay? And would you mind telling me then when you think their situation changed and what you think now? Sorry it’s so longggg and thank you if you take time to answer me <3

Helllllllo, I never mind any kind of ask! Granted, sometimes I might not answer but only because I'm overwhelmed, or it's the same ask in a row, or I'm not loving a sentence, or I just don't feel like it, or I think a bathroom shot is more appropriate, lmao, but this one? I got all the time in the world for you…so much so that I'll put it under the cut, since the ask is long enough itself, as shall the answer be!

Welcome to this mess, and wow, I'm so bowled over you even tried to scroll, I know trying to search tumblr.biz is a loser's lover's game, even for the loser lover who wrote it, so I won't even bother, but we can start fresh!

So my thoughts: Hell yeah, I think these two were together back in the day, probably almost immediately (see: the entire x-factor scandale with the blinds about all the fucking, the stairs interviews, ALL OF IT, screammmm). I don't know how long or even IF they were strictly monogamous, they were in a pressure cooker situation of near-constant contact with each other for five years, but I do think it eventually morphed into something open and/or then into a messy on again/off again situationship. That’s my current stance today, in fact—c'est messy!!!!

I’ll do the usual caveat that none of us actually KNOWS them, though, or what went down, we're only looking at what we see (and hear) and making a wild guess, and yet! Plenty of people see (and hear) the same thing and opt for a crazy reach with their whole chest, all to justify something happening between teenagers 13 years ago as if NOTHING would or could have changed since then. And some of those reaches make literally no sense, or they wash away anything that gets too close to that third rail of cognitive dissonance, the proverbial fingers in ears, lalalalala. I saw it recently on a post I made about clingy Harry with a stranger on the drunk WeHo trolley, with someone in the tags going, wait, I’ve never seen this! Of course you haven’t, that’s what an echo chamber does, bb!

Personally, I don't get that mindset—what’s so wrong about learning life is tough and things change for two literal strangers? Sure, we all love love and want the best for them, but shit happens in real life, too. Maybe it's easier to latch onto made-up receipts or straight up call a blue a green, but I think a big aspect of it is also the need to be right, to show you aren’t crazy, it’s real, and that gets frequently mixed in as being “supportive,” like you're some kind of homophobe if these two break up, as if two men fucking two other men somehow isn't worthy of your “support." But I’m here to say those two things actually can exist, something can be true in the past and not be true today, and it doesn’t negate the past bit, shocking, right?

Anyway, I digress. I feel like your sixth sense is on the money, and I'd love to hear more about it, either message me here or dm me about what tips you into that direction (hey!) because I feel like there is SO MUCH THAT DOES, yet few people really get into it. To me, it’s just a lot of content, so much content, the bare minimum being lyrics in multiple songs across a shit ton of albums, both solo and the very last 1D one. At this point, to me, Larry “proofs” sound insane (he wore green pants, they're MARRIED!!!!!), and part of me is like, kudos to you, Mr. Tomlinson, jesus loves you more than you will know, etc. Even that Harryween outfit of which you speak feels like a reach of a reach, a callback of a reach, mostly because it’s also not that deep, Grease isn't some tiny film nobody's seen, it's actually a remarkably easy group costume, AND it references things that could be nostalgic to two sets of people (larries and larry). I actually feel like these two at this point are either a) signaling to each other in some kinda way, like that monitor edgeplay shit they used to do (which works if you're together or apart, I might add), or b) cashing in some of that green blue green, if you feel me. And again, both of those could be true at once, they don't cancel each other out. I have two hands, I can hold a lotta thoughts!

It’s at this point where I start bangin’ the drum for garries because gaylors have it dead easy—you can be a gaylor and think that kaylor was a thing, but it doesn’t mean it’s STILL a thing to you, so whither garries!? I just don’t think a lot of today’s larries do themselves any favors by doubling down and driving out anyone who has questions. For the big ones, there’s no room for even whispering, hey, yeah, they were together, but they might have broken up, maybe??? It’s, like, NO!!! They’re mawwwwwwied, #husbands, they’ve only fucked one person, each other, let’s jump through a hoop that says Louis wearing green sweats is so LOUD (I’m not listening to lyrics, though, lalalalalala)!! It’s tragic and frankly dumb, but if you want to wallow in the persecution complex of it all, “everybody hates us ☹ (including Louis),” I guess the option is there, the whole us vs. them of it all that I’m just personally not into.

But I do feel like there’s some hope, it’s nice to see people coming around to the idea that, yeah, they WERE together and maybe they aren’t anymore, but it’s okay, it’s not the end of the world! It wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows, maybe they’ll reunite someday, or maybe it’s a goddamned hot mess, but you know what? Not my circus, not my monkeys! Granted, that part is harder for people who are mutuals with those who will not tolerate doubts even for a second—I just hope they venture off and find the other chill people, u know, the ones a lot of larries wish they saw on their dashes instead of hand-wringers, uh oh, oops, reaping = sowing.

I’m sorry, I’m ramblin’ here, let’s get back to your questions at the end of your ask! Do I think Harryween was them together or teasing each other or keeping larries at bay? Hmmmm, maybe a secret fourth thing: easy costume, easy global reference, and it’s not gonna keep larries at bay, lmao. Idk, man, for all we know (which, again, is literally nothing, nobody’s getting 24/7 content for 5 years straight anymore, such a bitter pill to swallow), maybe Grease is a fave movie of someone who’s in the new band, maybe Harry’s got a close personal friend who’s into it, too, maybe Louis's not the only guy in the world Harry’s dated who’s obsessed with Danny Zuko.

As for when do I think their situation changed, I think Eleanor was a big clue, breakup no. 1 was probably around their own breakup no. 1, she was an amazing proxy in so many ways, but I’m sure there were rifts and spats along the way (it even seeped into interviews that get written off as cute funsies or else are outright ignored because nobody watches beyond the gif format). I follow at least one person who talks about the '15 promo tour as giving very recent breakup energy, yet still has some fwb vibes, which means it's AWKWARD in spots, and I can see that. It would also explain why they were suddenly able to "sit together,” lol. Anyway, yes, that breakup (both times) was a big sign, I think no more peace ring was a HUGE sign, I think the writeups by Rob Sheffield (both of them, actually), especially the last paragraph of the Fine Line cover story was a NEON sign, and I think the last four albums by both of them spell it out, underline it, bold it, AND italicize it super clearly, but those are just the easy pickings (see also: Harry biking around daily to prove he’s not in Poland, Greece, etc., and the response is always, “We don’t know what day this was,” lmao).

What I think now is up above! I think it’s messy! Complicated! They aren’t #married! Now is that a forever thing? Who’s to say, and more importantly, who’s to really care on a “does this impacts my daily life in some kind of financial or spiritual way,” see further: circus, monkeys. I get that it’s easy to say, I interact with a lot of other people who don’t care and won't ostracize me for being a doubting Susan with my ~controversial thoughts and UOs. But there are those with faith in the future, so maybe it is as it was…hehe, oh me. I amuse myself, at least. Sorry this is an epic reply, and that it’s days late, I hope it gives you what you wanted to know! Anyone sending me garbage will get a bathroom response, peace and love.

#one direction #should i tag this larry receipts LMAO #burn that fucking fic tag to the ground

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flynndesdelca · 11 months

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For Day 18 (Doug Rattmann) of @chelltastic’s Portal Drawtober 2023 Challenge. As I’m not really an artist, I chose to write short pieces for the prompts.

Another mural to mark the occasion.

Being trapped in the facility and under the mercy of the (then) unknown computer had left Chell frustrated and angry. Certainly, she completed the tests, but it was never out of a sense of desire. It was only necessity that spurred her onward. The notion that something, anything could happen once she completed the tests. The idea of 'cake', a carrot dangled on a string over her head, had never been as much of a draw as whoever designed that system - the core-addled GLaDOS, perhaps? - had intended. Chell only had one goal in mind with the completion of the tests: finding a way to escape. Perhaps finding the people who were administering these tests and negotiating with them over her cooperation, or perhaps simply just punching them, stealing their keys, and running. She was fine, either way.

In her displeasure she often deliberately attempted to do tests in foolish ways, just to see if she could get a reaction. She wasn't happy about her situation and she wanted to show it. Normally there was no reaction, but on the odd occasion that her actions did actually cause trouble, the calm voice of the computer would chide her in its way and then do something to get her out of said situation. There were myriad ways for her to potentially kill herself, but yet these ones, the ones that didn't involve physical harm, the ones that involved her sitting and doing nothing until she died of starvation or maybe asphyxiation - it was hard to tell how well sealed some of those small chambers were - where the ones that warranted intervention.

It was during her rattling around in her anger that she found the first of the strange 'dens'. She'd been accidentally - she doubted it was an actual accident - sent on a test course full of live turrets. She'd been slowly making her way through, cursing everything she could think of silently, when she'd turned a way she perhaps had never been intended to go. Rather than a dead end or a face full of turrets, she'd found a small secret room. There scribbled on the wall was a statement that echoed her own misgivings: the cake was a lie. It also showed a method to deal with the turrets from afar, which she greatly appreciated. It had been such a shock, to see signs of life in the otherwise empty, dead place. Clearly someone had been... living here? Staying? Hiding, most likely. She had a strange feeling of safety while there, as though somehow she was out of notice. From then on she started to keep an eye open just in case there may have been more of the same.

She had been rewarded, of course, as in the next test chamber she'd found another place to squeak into. She had to put down the Companion Cube to do it, but she had been rewarded with another discovery. While she was certain she was being fed a line about the Companion Cube, whoever it was who had been staying there seemed to be obsessed with them, and was angry and distraught about one having been... killed. The words chilled her to the bone to see, scrawled on the wall, and she spent the rest of the test being very careful with the cube... only to have to throw it in the incinerator. She hoped that whoever this person was, that they wouldn't be angry at her for her actions. If they were still out there, of course. She hadn't actually seen any evidence of their presence outside of what had remained in those two hidden rooms.

The next one hadn't really been a secret room per se... mostly just a hidden corner, a reprieve. She had ducked inside to catch her breath but also to try to come up with a plan. The end was coming up soon and she hadn't thought that far ahead. She sat and listened to the radio and its tinny little sound, wondering just who would have left it at that station. Who was the cube-obsessed survivor? Where were they now? What were they doing? Had they made it out of the tests, or had they been one of those who had died there?

Finding the next one had been the furthest thing from Chell's mind when she stumbled across it. She'd been quite busy after the attempted murder with stalking through the strange rooms she'd found herself in once she had broken out of the testing tracks. Beyond the clean and sterile testing environment, Aperture had seemingly been left to slowly decay. While there had been signs of people being there once, there was no longer anyone there. They were all dead or gone. Even the mysterious person whose secret sleeping room she now stood in. She couldn't imagine how uncomfortable it would be to curl up on cardboard, terrified of the murder-minded computer lurking around just outside, calling out in the distant hope of somehow getting compliance. Laughable, really. Was that how the test was supposed to end, dropping the test subjects into fire? Or was that something reserved just for her? At this point she wasn't sure what to think. Right now, though, she was glad for the moment to sit, to try to think beyond her next few steps. Some of the rooms had bottles of water in them, the outside dusty and the contents stale from sitting but still drinkable, and she was grateful for it. She was also intensely grateful for the guidance, as without the directions they had left for her to follow she wouldn't have had a sense of where to go in some of the areas. Even the simple directional arrows had been a great help in navigating the confusing corridors of the rooms behind.

And then it had been her and her alone. There had been no further signs of her unseen ally, and given the situation she had just managed to drag herself out of she felt as though perhaps they might not have made it through. The rest of her journey she had made on her own, slowly picking her way through the last areas until she had finally come face-to-face with her tormentor and won her freedom.

Or so she had thought! She had woken up not in the parking lot that she had remembered seeing distantly in her dreams upon the computer's destruction, but inside a Relaxation Chamber as part of its standard subject revitalization protocol. Had the whole thing simply been a dream? Had she imagined the whole thing, all of the tests and dealing with the mad computer at the centre of it all? Was this her really having finally been awoken for the tests she had been conscripted to? She had no idea what was real and what wasn't, and the ramblings of the crazed core that had taken her Relaxation Chamber and smashed it around before dumping her into an overgrown testing track hadn't helped her to confirm one way or the other how much of what she could recall had actually happened.

All of that reminiscence hadn't prepared her for what she was currently seeing, of course. The feel of the Single Portal Device in her hands was oh-so familiar, like a glove that had been made for her, and her left hand curled under it instinctively while her right hand hovered over the double triggers with a familiarity that could only have been born of endless repetition. She stared up at the wall before her, horror and shock creeping onto her face. It was another of those secret rooms, she recognized the scrawling drawings, but she hadn't expected to see a huge painting of herself there. This person had been alive the whole time, had seen her, and judging from the paintings in this room had been there for the whole thing right from the computer’s creation. She stared at the mural of herself, almost certain that she could see paint trickling down from it as though it had only just been daubed up there moments ago. It was bone dry, of course, but the fact that it was her... Who was this person who had guided her unseen out of the facility? Where were they? How had they been watching her? So many questions swirled around in her mind. Would she find signs of their passing again? More secret rooms where they had tucked themselves away? Would she finally get to meet them?

Escape was her plan, once more, and perhaps it would be more straightforward now that the facility was in ruins and she had actual help on her way. A part of her hoped that she could meet the strange, cube-crazed person who had been so instrumental in her escape. Knowing that what she had been thinking wasn't simply paranoia from being alone and constantly watched. Knowing that it was okay to have those feelings had helped her to keep from going completely insane by the end. If she did happen to find that person... she would really like to thank them.

Really, she hoped that she wouldn't get to see them because they had finally managed to escape.

#portal drawtober 2023 #portal #chell #chell portal #doug rattmann #sir not appearing in this story despite it being about him

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